


No Holding Back

by ShannonPhillips



Series: A Little Less Attitude and a Little More Altitude [18]
Category: Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Dirty Talk, F/M, Inappropriate Use of the Force, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-26
Updated: 2016-01-26
Packaged: 2018-05-16 08:34:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5821558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShannonPhillips/pseuds/ShannonPhillips
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Originally written for the Star Wars Rebels kinkmeme (http://swr-kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org) to satisfy a request for "bruised lips, clothes ripped."</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Holding Back

Hera stomps back on the Ghost thrumming with frustration. A communications breakdown resulting in a botched handoff—trainees with more enthusiasm than ability—and an intermittent equipment failure that she can never get to replicate when she’s trying to actually fix it: it hasn’t been the smoothest day for Phoenix Squadron. Isn’t there one blasted thing that will just take care of itself without needing her to babysit?  
  
“Hera!” Kanan calls. “There you are! I need you to—”  
  
He breaks off, and Hera sighs and consciously smooths out her thunderous expression. “Whatever it is,” she says, “let me deal with it after I grab a shower.”  
  
He slides her a sympathetic grin. “Hard day at the office, honey?”  
  
“Don’t start.”  
  
She does get that shower, but afterwards instead of reaching for her flight suit, she pulls out a short, soft nightshirt. Never mind that it’s not actually time for bed. It’s time for _something_. Kanan’s going to show up at her door pretty soon, with some kind of problem that she still doesn’t want to hear about, and Hera’s not above trying to short-circuit that conversation before it even starts.  
  
A soft rap on the bulkhead. “Come in,” Hera calls, without turning around. She’s still toweling off her lekku.  
  
She hears the door close. Soft footsteps behind her. Then Kanan pulls the towel from her hands, replacing it with his own palms running down the bare skin of her lek. Hera shivers and turns to face him.  
  
“Whatever it is,” she says, “I don’t want to hear about it.”  
  
His eyes on her are shadowed, intent. “Tell me what you _do_ want,” he says.  
  
She pulls him down for a kiss. His hands slide around her hips, a gentle, brushing touch. His mouth on hers is tender. No. No, this _isn’t_ what she wants, not right now—  
  
Hera breaks off their kiss, turning her head to nip at his earlobe. “I want,” she breathes, “I want you to stop holding back. I want—” She pauses to trace the outline of his ear with the tip of her tongue. “I want _you_ to do whatever you want to me. Make it rough, make it hard, make it quick—make it anything. ” Hera flicks her tongue across his skin and whispers: “I just don’t want to be the one in charge right now.”  
  
Kanan turns his head, capturing her mouth with his own. His grip on her tightens, fingers digging into the fabric of her nightshirt. He drags her hips hard against his. His mouth on hers is hard and bruising.  
  
He’s always been a quick study, that one.  
  
“Yes,” Hera manages, as a hot throb of desire surges through her. “Yes…Kanan…”  
  
But he pulls back. Hera makes an inarticulate sound of protest, dragging her eyes open, and finds him looking at her with heavy-lidded intensity. Then he makes a gesture with his hand, and—  
  
—an invisible, irresistible force sends her flying against the bulkhead. Hera gasps with the impact—it’s not actually painful, just surprising—and tries to regain her footing, but she’s pinned. Held there, against the wall, by the power of his will. Kanan very casually begins to strip off his armor as he walks over to her.  
  
Hera can feel her pulse thrumming in her neck. And…elsewhere. The adrenaline, the anticipation. This is very different from their usual lovemaking.  
  
Kanan tosses his armor aside and pulls off his shirt. A few more steps, and he’s standing over her, the tall, muscled bulk of him filling her sight. Hera’s breath is coming short and fast. She tries to move her hands and finds that she can’t.  
  
Then he reaches for her. His fists (still gloved) wind in the fabric of her nightshirt and with a sudden, sharp jerk the fabric rips, baring her breasts and belly. “Hey!” Hera yelps. “What are you—”  
  
Her words break off as his gloved hand covers her mouth. She stares at him, a little shocked: “What am I doing?” Kanan echoes, his voice deep and dangerous. He leans closer: “Whatever I want.”  
  
Now his breath is hot on her earcones. “If you want me to stop,” he says softly, “kick me.” Hera experimentally flexes an ankle: yes, she can move it.  
  
Oh, but she doesn’t want him to stop. Especially now that his free hand is traveling over her body. There’s no gentleness in his touch: he gropes one breast, then the other, pinching and tugging at her nipples. Hera writhes under him, arching her back, and moans against the fabric of his glove. This is a kind of vulnerability she absolutely would not allow, not with anyone but him; but in Kanan’s hands she could never feel unsafe.  
  
Kanan’s kissing her neck and shoulder, his mouth working against her skin with an intensity sure to leave a mark. He drives a knee between her legs, forcing them to part. When his fingers press into her Hera cries out helplessly.  
  
Kanan’s fingers work inside her in a fast, hard rhythm. In response to her staccato cries his hand tightens over her mouth, but he doesn’t relent. The intensity of it—Kanan filling her, stretching her, driving into her again and again—only builds, until she throws her head to the side and gasps: “Kanan, Kanan _please_ …”  
  
And then his hand pulls away and she’s dropping, falling—no, not falling, he’s got her. He swings her up in his arms. “Hera,” he says: just her name, and nothing more, but his voice is rough with desire and need.  
  
A few short steps and he drops her on the bunk. She reaches for him but he pushes her, hard, forcing her to turn until she’s on her stomach, facing the back of the bunk. She’s very conscious that the tattered remains of her nightshirt are doing nothing to hide her ass from his gaze.  
  
She hears his belt unfastening, but when he grabs her hips she barely has time to gasp before he drives into her from behind. This time there is nothing to stifle her sharp moan as she is suddenly and forcibly filled.  
  
He goes still. A gentle touch, at the back of her head: “Too much?”  
  
“No,” she gasps, “no, yes, it’s good.” In truth she’s not quite relaxed enough to take him without pain, but it’s a pain mixed sharply with pleasure and the blinding intensity of it is exactly what she wants—a hot raw passion to sweep over her and make her forget anything else.  
  
He draws back, thrusts into her again more shallowly. Hera makes a noise of frustration and cants her hips, pushing back against him. No, he’s being too careful of her again. She needs to push him past that maddening Jedi control—  
  
Her voice. That’s what she can use; he’s got a real thing for her voice. There’s nothing that pushes him over the edge faster than a little dirty talk. “Kanan,” Hera moans. “Kanan, you’re fucking me, your cock is driving into me and I want it…”  
  
He groans aloud and sinks into her fully. Hera gasps but doesn’t let up: “F-fuck me, love, fuck me hard, I’m yours and I want it…aaah!” She breaks off as he slams into her, fingers curling in the bedsheets. “Yes, yes, take me, I want your cock…aaah, aahh!” Her cries mix with his low moans, and the wet, obscene sound of his flesh slapping against hers as he gives in, hammering into her with quick, powerful thrusts.  
  
Hera buries her face into the bunk and _screams_ , rocked by overwhelming surges of sensation, pleasure and pain and a hot throbbing pulse of need that builds and builds until finally Kanan shudders against her, hips driving into her with a few last spasms. Then he collapses beside her, panting.  
  
Hera rolls onto her back. She’s so close. She takes Kanan’s hand and guides it between her legs. His fingers find the right spot, pressing and rubbing, and he snakes his other arm beneath her shoulders to hold her tightly. Within moments she’s convulsing in his arms, crying his name as release sweeps over her.  
  
“Hera,” he says again, and presses a kiss into her temple. “I love you.”  
  
She lays a tender hand on his cheek. “I love you, too.” Then she takes a deep breath. “And I suppose you’d better tell me about whatever the problem is, now.”


End file.
